Weaseled
by EmmyWemmyDee
Summary: When all is lost, can Arthur find a new beginning? LuciusArthur
1. Chapter 1

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**Warning: There_may_ be stronghomosexual content in later chapters. There's definitely homosexual content though.**

_This chapter is just Srthur angst. There will be a mood lift soon, I promise. '_

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters within belong to JK Rowling, not me.**

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Dishes and cups littered the tabletop and counter, overflowing from the small kitchen sink. A raggedy pair of dirty slacks were slung over the back of an old wooden chair, wrinkled against the table and waiting for the time when someone would notice and bring it to the laundry heap just outside the back door- to be charmed clean and left to dangle in the air, gaining a fresh, earthy smell of spring. But no one noticed and no one would for a long while yet. Laundry was the last thing on Arthur's mind these days.

Arthur smiled a soft, sad smile, sipping at a mug of cold tea as he leaned through the side kitchen door. Pale blue eyes watched as the sun slowly set across the distance, fading away to reveal faint stars overhead. On nights like these, it was still strange not to see the slight outlines of young boys playing on broomsticks just over the hill. It was strange to not hear the rising and falling shouts of laughter as Molly called them in for dinner and Ginny ran across the yard to tattle on her mischievous brothers.

Sometimes, Arthur could almost hear the echoes of fond past memories, only to feel his chest tighten painfully as he realized it was only memory and nothing more. He would catch glimpses or movement, a flash of identical impish smiles and red hair, feel the slight dipping of his bed at night where Molly would join and hold him as they dreamed... over and over, his heart broke to find no one there and he would remember his family was gone forever.

Two years had already come and gone since the day the news came. Two years since the death eaters attacked the ministry's family shelter, leaving no survivors. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, blowing a cloud of warmth out into the chilly fall air. If he had listened to Molly, if he had let them stay home... they would have still been waiting for him when he returned from the war.

Crossing thin arms across his chest, Arthur rubbed some heat back into the cold limbs as he turned back into the lit kitchen, allowing the door to snap shut behind. His empty cup dangled from a finger as he walked to the counter, dropping it carelessly onto the overcrowded surface. He would clean the kitchen later... just not now... never now...

Arthur closed his eyes briefly, fighting back the familiar sting of walking into his bedroom. Once upon a time, he would have said "_Molly's bedroom_" as it had always been his wife's favorite room in the burrow. Jam-packed with photos, small sentimental items, and a tiny space reserved for a pile of plugs, Arthur found this to be the most heart-wrenching room in all the house. Joyful, tender faces surrounded him, beckoning from every available surface- and it hurt. Arthur held a hand to his chest, but he could never bring himself to move a single item from where it had once been so lovingly placed. Even with only himself to inhabit the space, it would always be Molly's room.

Lying in bed, Arthur started at every creek from above, tense in his waiting for the tell-tale squeak of padded feet sneaking down the stairs, or the sniggers of plotting twins staying up too late. Only when the shadows blurred and his eyes became too heavy to hold did he fall into a restless sleep.

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_Makes you wanna read some comedy, don't it? Worry not! The angst will fade soon enough and be replaced by lurve._

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	2. Chapter 2

**Ooh, long time, no update. **

**WEASELED**

Huddled groups walked sluggishly down the street; eager to return home, but oddly subdued by the gloomy, charred atmosphere of the once prosperous Diagon Alley. Shops and carts were finally returning, mended and rebuilt by the teams of wizards who were determined to put the war behind them- but small triumphs were obscured by two year old rubble and a resolute undercurrent of painful memory.

Broken glass crunched beneath Lucius' heels as he approached a small cluster of witches, the women scattering in time for him to continue his long stride unhindered. He heard them hiss at his back, not bothering to pick up the cliché insults and accusations- Lucius, the Death Eater gone free; Lucius, the traitor, the murderer, the sick bastard no one could touch. Oh yes, he knew what they were saying, and they were right. He _couldn't_ be touched. The Ministry had the final word and their word said he was Lucius, the Death Eater turned Ministry spy.

Unfortunately, the grand label they placed over his head wasn't always in his best interest...

Lucius felt his lip curl and suppressed a snort of disgust. No. He no longer had his old reputation to go back on- He had to be the good boy and act the nice part; be the noble, caring hero that wizards could look up to... He had to go play babysitter for that damned Weasley.

'Well, if I have to be a sweet bastard and patrol the streets, then I'll damn well make him suffer too.' Lucius growled silently, glaring at a small boy even as a sickeningly fake smile plastered to his lips. 'No one ever let _me_ mope around for two years when _my_ bitch of a wife croaked.'

Centered in the town square, a towering fireplace cast a shadow over a line of shops. Completely unnecessary, as there were plenty of regular hearths in the scattered bars and stores- but there were no complaints. The Ministry felt it had done something helpful for the wizards coming in to rebuild, and everyone else got a grand entrance... or exit in Lucius' case.

He waited patiently as a flock of people pushed through the fire, taking their time in brushing and knocking soot from their jackets and shoes. They jostled each other, chattering over things to do, then finally moved on, allowing Lucius to step forward.

Reaching into the deep pocket of his thick winter cloak, he scooped a handful of soft powder from the bottom and tossed it into the low flames. He shook his hair back as a burst of heat washed over his face, bringing a small cloud of ash, and cleared his throat. "The burrow."

In a swirl of green flame and black fabric, he disappeared- Only to be replaced seconds later by an elderly witch, off to buy her groceries.

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Sorry, I know it's short. I'm battling writers' block. :P 


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